Flight of the Falcon
by Paper Ballerina
Summary: What if Anne had escape the Tower before her execution and had to become someone else? This is the story of what happened to Anne when she defied the king and her family and began a new life. Not as A boleyn or a howard. But as herself.
1. Chapter 1

_An: Despite the obviously fictional main plot I have tried to be historically accurate._

I look out of my small window down towards the tower green as the workmen carry tools and wood for the scaffold, piling them on the gravel as they start to assemble the framework. I can feel the hairs in the back of my neck stand on end as I see the men carelessly wielding saws and hammers. How do I know that Henry won't hack my head off with a saw? Or club me to death with a hammer? How do I know that he would not? He has been so cruel to me so far. He said he loved me, he defied an entire kingdom and spat in the faces of the catholic powers for love of me, he made me queen and then he discarded me to this dank cold cell to await my death. All because he was impatient for a son, which I could have given him had he given me more time and because for that that Seymour whore. That little wench! That little ungrateful milk faced mousey whore, she was one of my ladies-in-waiting and then she goes and betrays me with my husband, my husband I risked everything for. If I could get my hands on her I would ring her scrawny pale neck. Then again she wasn't the only one that turned Henry against me; there was a whole fleet of traitors including my own uncle. That bastard! He gave me my sentence to my face without remorse or sympathy for his once favourite niece. Well at least I can die knowing I was never his mindless pawn and that I defied him, that in itself it worth something. I should have known he would abandon me as soon as I was unprofitable just like all my friends and courtiers. They are probably having a masque right now, in which a handsome prince saves a golden haired maiden from some wanton wicked brunette witch, and everyone would be laughing to see the death of the witch knowing well my fate. Just like they did with Wolsey. We laughed and made merry as he took his life in a cell similar to this. I think it is ironic that my greatest enemy is so similar to me and it almost moves me to pity him. Almost. Despite my sympathy of knowing the torment of exile and awaiting death there is one thing that separates us. He was guilty and immoral and I am innocent. If I should die, I shall die innocent of these crimes. Like George. Oh my brother, my little brother who I should have protected and cared for, I lead him to his death because of my folly. And now he is dead, dead like all the others that loved me innocently. I have only just stopped weeping for them, because I know that tomorrow it will be my time to die and there is no point weeping for myself. I have to be strong and accept my fate. I cannot be anything but grateful for Henry's judgement; I have Elizabeth to think of. If I shame Henry and tell of his impotence or temper he will punish Elizabeth. I cannot do that to my daughter, I have to give her a chance to claim her birth right and not be remembered as the bastard child of the whore Anne Boleyn. I have to be strong.

My ladies sit sewing silently; flinching every time they hear the hammer hit the wood into place. They dare not look at me for fear that tears would flood their eyes. My little companions have been good to me, loyal as lapdogs and as well behaved as nuns. Especially Katherine Champernowne. She is so very protective of me, god help her when they come for me. She has been staring at me for the last hour or so, her black eyes filled with urgency focused on my back. It is as though she is imprinting my image into her mind so that I am gone she will never forget me. I find this thoughtful but irritating as I don't want to be watched, I have been watched since the day I was noticed by the king. I am tired of being constantly watched and studied. But I don't have the strength to tell her to stop, I cannot argue. What point is therein arguing when I am to die in less than a day? I look out of the window and over the walls of the Tower. The sky is so blue above the grim dirty city of London; it's almost like the sky at Hever, my childhood home. Bellow my window I can hear the workmen gossiping loudly and saying awful lies about me. They even sing dirty little bar songs about me. I turn away from the window, my temper slowly growing out of my frustration of being powerless against my attackers.

"My lady, are you alright?" Katherine Champernowne asked softly, looking up from her embroidery with her black eyes. I smile at her; at least one person cares about my well being.

"Yes, I am just tired, Katherine. Thank you for your concern." I say walking over to my small half empty jewellery box and giving her my last pearl necklace. As i place the necklace in her hand her fingers slowly enclose the necklace, hiding it from the darkness and unpleasantness of my cell. Her eyes water and she looks towards the floor.

"Thank you, your Majesty" she whispers as the emotion becomes too much for her. I place a comforting hand on her shoulder before I walk toward an empty stool by the fire place to think about what is to come, what has come to pass and what could have been.

*~**B**~*

I am woken suddenly in the middle of the night. Someone is shaking me. I suddenly panic, thinking of the small princes that were murdered not far from here. They were smothered in the night by assassins. Has Henry sent someone to privately kill me now like those little boys? Oh god I'm not even dress and I have not prayed for myself. I'm not ready to die.

"Lady Anne. Please wake up" A small voice calls from the darkness above me. I sit up trying desperately to see in the thick darkness for the glimmer of a blade but to no avail.

"I beg you. Let me pray for my soul before you kill me" I say desperately in no more than a whisper. It sounds more like a threat than a plea. I hear a small sigh.

"Lady Anne, it is me, Kat Champernowne. I need you to listen to me your grace. It is most important" she whispers.

"What is it Katherine? Has the king changed his mind and is going to send me to a nunnery?" I asked hopefully. She hushes me to lower my voice, the cell is silent and someone might hear us.

"No, my lady. But I have a plan to save your life. "She says so quietly I can barely believe I have heard her right. "But you most hurry, the sun is almost up."I sit in silence wondering how on earth she was going to save my life and get me out of here. But I am eager to escape.

"I understand, Katherine. What is your plan?"

"I will trade places with you." She declares evenly. I could have laughed at how stupid this sounded; the poor woman had clearly lost her wits.

"Katherine, if you trade places with me you will die." I say needlessly, her plan was too hopeful and optimistic. The point was someone had to die.

"I understand that, your grace. I have been planning this for weeks, everything is in order. "She says without a trace of emotion. I find myself suspecting her as a spy, is she trying to add more treason to the charges against me.

"What is your plan?" I ask slowly and suspiciously. She sits on my bed; I can feel the straw in the mattress shifting under her weight.

"Well I'd wear your clothes and you'd wear mine. You'd write a letter discharging Katherine Champernowne because the damp has affected her breathing. You'd then leave and go live with my sister Joan Champernowne and become me." She said. I sat and absorbed this information then challenged her.

"The guards would know it wasn't me. I know we look very much alike but they would know what had happened. Also the spectators would know it wasn't me."

"The guards have all been bribed and the spectators would believe you have been mistreated hence why you look and sound slightly different" she said without doubt. I had to admire her for her determination and self confidence. But mostly for the fact she would give her life for me.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask her, my voice filling with emotion as I realise I am going to be the cause of yet another death. I know she is smiling even though I cannot see it.

"Because you need to live for your daughter. She is the princess of our faith. If she does not become queen who will defend our faith? You must make sure she becomes queen to save the Protestants from the catholic powers. "Katherine said, finally showing the passion as to why she wanted to die. It wasn't for love of me but for love of god. She was going to die to save the protestant people. I patted the mattress until I found her hand and took it. We sat in silence in the dark. This was the last night one of us would have on this earth. Tomorrow Anne Boleyn was going to die but Katherine Champernowne had a chance to live and save my daughter.


	2. Chapter 2

_An: thank you for you for your review __Pandora of Ithilien__ and thank you: __Mint and lemon, FetishFatale (love the name), Maribunny, tigeruawish, ValueMyHeart, _oOfallenxtearsOo _and Heartless-Princess33 for your story alerts and favourites. In Chapter one, Katherine is called Katherine Ashley by mistake so until we get to the 1540's I'm afraid I have to call her Katherine __Champernowne. Changes have been made to the first chapter. Sorry for any inconvenience. _

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I trade clothes with Katherine. I trade my queen's wardrobe for a lady-in-waiting's. I have spent the last nine years trying to go from being a lady in waiting to a queen and now I have to give it all back. All in order to save my own, Elizabeth's and the Protestants of England's lives from the catholic's power and the king's temper. But I cannot save Katherine's . She will give her life for us all, and I shall fly out of this cage like the falcon of my family's crest. In truth it is a small price to pay, considering many have died for me already. What is one more if it means thousands and my own daughter shall live? However I do feel compassion and admiration for this woman. She is not like me. I have sobbed and have denied my fate in this cell whereas she stands boldly and silently as I dress her in the faint early morning light. I lace her up in my finest blue satin dress and finest jewels. She looks almost as good as I would look in the dress that Henry so lovingly gave me. I do not feel as though I'm dressing her for her death , I feel more like a mother dressing her daughter on her wedding day and who is about to deliver her to an unhappy union. I keep this thought in my head and think of Elizabeth; if I succeed I will have to do this for her when she is queen and about to marry some vile duke or prince. Although it is unpleasant it is less unpleasant then the thought of dressing a woman for the scaffold. Katherine's silence, dignity and bravery impress me to no end and I am assured she will not make a fool of me when she takes my place on the scaffold. As I brush her dark brown hair I feel compelled to ask her what she will say on the scaffold. But tact and the fact that I do not want to be reminded that I'm taking her life for my own stops me. No matter what she does or says she cannot condemn me or shame me anymore then what my once beloved Henry has. He had always been a spoiled little jealous boy in a man's body. Queen Katherine, poor old queen Katherine, had been no more than a mother to this child king and when she could not indulge his demands for a son any longer he merely disposed of her without remorse. I had been a fool to think that I was anything more than a novelty and a desperate attempt to produce a Tudor heir. Did he ever love me for me or did he just desire to hunt me, capture me and then place a legitimate Tudor son in my womb? I cannot tell for sure. What I can tell is that Jane Seymour will be by the king's side on my throne, even when I am still alive. The thought makes me even more determined to live. If Henry is acting like how he used to be with me, I shall live to see Jane's down fall. I am not like queen Katherine, I shall not mew myself away in a little dank castle at the king's command and die a slow and poor death mourning the loss of him. I will fight for my daughter. The princess Mary and whatever weakling children the king can have from Jane are now my sworn enemies along with my uncle, Jane Seymour herself, whoever sent my friends, brother and myself to our deaths, and whoever stands in Elizabeth's way for the throne. My life as noble woman and Queen Anne Boleyn is over. From this day forward I shall have my revenge for my fall from grace and fight for my daughter. I can imagine what humiliations Henry is subjecting Elizabeth too. Most likely saying that she is a bastard and removing all her privileges as a royal child, she will be left with nothing and banished just like Mary. I pray to god that she is not placed with Mary. The princess Mary hates me and I am sure she would harm my daughter because she is a rival to the throne and the daughter of Anne the whore. But I know that Henry is that thoughtless and inconsiderate and his lack of interest is a threat to Elizabeth's life and wellbeing. He would place her with the most inappropriate person just so that he would not have to see her. But will I not be stubborn like Katherine and demand my daughter is a princess and an heir and generally a torn in the king's side; I shall be sly and make my daughter the apple of his eye and beloved and pleasing to all those around the king, the perfect tudor rose in comparison to the stubborn, ugly thorn that is Mary. Our daughters will fight, as we had fought, for the throne. Even when we are dead our battles over the English throne will remain. However I doubt Mary is as strong as me or her mother; unlike us she has never fight for the throne. Katherine was subjected to treatment that was cruel and lived ashamed and in poverty for seven years, all the while fighting to gain the throne. While I used my wits and charms to steal her hard earned throne. This was a world consumed by ambition, greed, determination and lust. Poor princess Mary however does not seem like an ambitious or determined woman. No, she is a stubborn bratish girl. Although, she is very devoted to her religion and I believe that she will become a nun and give up her claim to the throne once Seymour gives the king a son. But my Elizabeth shall never give up. I have fought so hard for my own throne only to lose it, I shall not let Elizabeth lose the throne I had fought so hard for and the throne she deserves.

I tie Katherine's hair into a bun, so that the swordsman can see the neck without distraction. I want it to be painless and quick for her; I owe her that much at least. She looks into the looking glass without expression. There is no glee in her eyes as she is wearing the queen's clothes, in comparison I am sure Jane Seymour is delighted as she raids my wardrobe at court. Katherine merely looks from my reflection to her own, making sure we look more than similar. It is frightening to look into the reflective face of the glass at the old me and the new me. Katherine's face is grave and mines is unreadable and drawn. She finally looks into my reflection's eyes directly.

"You should go, now, before the sun comes up and people may recognize you. There is a boat waiting at Traitor's gate, it will take you out of London. You will then make your way to Devonshire, by whatever means you can. My sister, Joan will be waiting for you at The Boar's head Inn, you need only ask for it. "She says evenly while gazing at my pale face. Her tone frightens me because it is so emotionless, and I could swear her eyes glare at me in accusation. I cannot help but feel some small pang of guilt. I nod before going to retrieve a small coin purse. It will bribe the swordsman to be especially careful; by god this loyal and brave woman deserves a queen's death. She turns from the looking glass and towards me, taking the purse from my cold hand and holding the purse to her breast. She looks as regal and as divine as any crowned queen of England, perhaps she looks better pretending to be me then I ever did as me. Her grace and dignity remind me not alone of myself but of old queen Katherine and ironically both will die martyrs because of one king's folly. She walks past me as through I was already one of the Tower's ghosts, retrieving a piece of paper and gesturing for me to go to the little desk.

"Write that you are dismissing Lady Katherine** Champernowne,** because she is having breathing difficulties and then sign the letter as Queen Anne Boleyn." She said directly as though she was instructing some small child. I was taken aback by her tone and was about to tell her that she should not speak to a queen in such a manner. But I remember I am no longer queen. I am Anne, the soon to be headless corpse who no longer has any authority left in this world. I simply hold my tongue and write the letter. I feel almost as guilty and murderous as Henry as I sign the letter, sealing poor Katherine's fate. As I sign my name to the document a splash of ink lands on my wrist, just below my sleeve. _The least of my worries_, I think will a grimace. We stand in silence around the drying letter as we hear the other ladies stirring in the conjoining room, the sun has still not raisin but time is quickly running out. I start to feel panicked as I realise that if I do not leave before the people of London wake then I will be discovered and it will be me and all my loyal ladies and servants that will die and Elizabeth will be left to the wolves of the court. I quickly grab one of my ladies' cloaks, not caring who's it was or if it was valuable or beloved to them. I pull the hood over my face, hiding my dark eyes and dark hair under its shadow before I stand behind Katherine like the apparition of death itself. I am dressed in shades of brown with an almost black cape, unflattering and unattractive colours that mask my hidden beauty. She turns around to hand me the letter securing my freedom. I can see the strain now, that I (whether it was because I did not want to see it or I was too selfish to) never noticed until now. Her hands were trembling and deadly pale; her dark eyes were lined with purple bags and her lips were terribly gnawed on from her fretting. I desperately want to reassure her, to tell her that Henry has given me a good swordsman, but I know that will not soothe her. I myself can hardly believe that Henry would have given me that luxury.

"Take this letter and go." She says slowly and without hope, her voice finally cracking under all the suppressed emotion. I feel the tears well up in my eyes and I reach out and embrace her. She falls into my arms and I can feel her body shaking as she silently sobs, I hold her tightly in my arms and think of Elizabeth. If I let Katherine die, then Elizabeth shall have no reason to sob like this ever. I shall never let her have reason to cry. Katherine rests her head on my shoulder and I can feel singular tears rolling down my collar bone and down towards my heart. I continue to think of Elizabeth, I cannot think about this woman in my arms. She will die in a few hours and then she will be nothing to me. She will not help me from beyond the grave, so she will outlive her usefulness. I have to think of Elizabeth and escape this place; I cannot be condemned with Katherine. I have to escape for my daughter and throne. I am starting to realise how dangerously close we are to sunrise. I pry Katherine away from me and take the letter into my hand. She stands dazed and light head from the weeping, just as I should look on the day of my death. But she gives me a comforting nod. I bow to her and turn away to call on the guard.

I feel the butterflies hatch in my stomach as I approach the door. It is now I find out if Katherine is true to me or a great actress that has ensnared me in another treason charge. I knock on the door and I see an aged guard look in at me.

"Yes my lady?" he asks gently. I can tell he knows the queen will die today and is being as tactful and kind as possible. I cough terribly, shaking my very being before handing him the note. Well, it makes it more convincing that I have trouble with my lungs if I cough and splutter. He reads the note slowly; the poor man can barely read at all by the looks of him. I stand anxiously watching him, the fierce and determined gleam had returned back into my eyes as I dissected him with my gaze watching for any sign of disbelieve. He gives me back the letter and for a moment I think I am doomed. There is silence as I stand tensely waiting to hear my fate. Katherine stands somewhere in the room, listening closely but looking disinterested. Then I hear the clamber of the heavy door unlocking and being heaved out of my way. I could cry out of sheer disbelieve and delight as the door peeled itself open like the eyes of a new born baby. It was the most beautiful sight I had seen up until now. That slow movement revealing the dank twirling limestone stair case and the portly guard was glorious. Not even the great castles of Europe or the fine fashions from France could delight me or make me more awe stricken. I nod my head and walk past the guard and down the spiralling stair case.

I feel my heart pound as strongly and as fast as the heavy hooves of a free and galloping horse as I grab my skirts and run down the stairs. I almost stumble in the darkness but I continue to run downwards, nothing could stop me running now. I've had a small taste of freedom and I have found it is an addictive drug that I cannot deny myself. I feel no emotions; I go into a survival state. Like a soldier on the battlefield, I am relaying solely on my instincts and wits. They have locked me up like an animal, and if they deny me my freedom then I shall fight like an animal. I reach the bottom of the staircase and hesitate. Outside the wooden door, I shall come face to face with the scaffold that was meant for me. The faces of George, Mark, William and Francis flash before my eyes and I have to cover my mouth in fear of making a heartbroken cry. My baby brother, sweet little George whose only crime was to be merry and to enjoy the pleasures so readily offered to him at court. Who could have said a bad thing against him? Who could have accused him and see him die? I stop myself thinking such things. I have to be strong. I open the door yet I do not see the scaffold. The guards ask why I am out of the cell and I show them the letter as I absentmindedly look for the scaffold. They dismiss me without much concern; after all I am only a lady-in-waiting. I nod and walk away from them towards Traitor's gate. As a cross the gravel coated square towards the grim entrance, I see it. I see it from the corner of my eye, as I walk towards my freedom. The grim wooden platform stands erected like a headstone. The wood is of good quality and appears to a credit to its makers yet I still feel utter distain at the thought of it. Henry had always wanted to have attention, so he would deny me a dignified private execution so he could have it. This scaffold was a perverse twin of the platforms we have in our masques, it was a morbid and wicked take on entertainment. His vanity and childish behaviour repulses me and fuels my determination to have my daughter take his throne. I shall make her queen and she will be far greater monarch then Henry ever could be. But I cannot look at it, not in full at least. I can only just bare to see it in a vague brief glance but nothing more. I hide behind my hood and look forwards. The scaffold is behind me now, I shan't look back I have to keep on going. The slivery rays of the early morning sun slowly overcome the battlements of the Tower as I reach the door to Traitor's gate. I know Katherine's eyes are on me from that little window, the little window where I watch my father abandon me and walk to freedom. I am doing the same thing to her as he did to me. I'm going to leave this awful place and never look back. I have no remorse or hope for Anne Boleyn, she is dead from this day forward. The only thought that saddens me about losing my identity is that I shall never see my sister again, I shall never see Mary or William or their children ever again. I shall not see my niece and nephew make good marriages because they are Boleyns; they are a tainted stock all because of me. But I shall right that wrong along with many others, I swear to God that if I survive this I will do everything I can to fix all the troubles I have caused and see that those who have wronged me get what they deserve.

Traitor's gate is a pit of thick darkness with only two torches lit. The smell is unbearable; sewage, damp and rotting flesh. I am glad that the gate is barley lit, because there are served heads on spikes besides the boat. I dig my nails into my palms and will myself not to cry. I shiver and realise that I am not safe yet and that my darling brother's head maybe resting on a spike. The boat man stands up suddenly and offers me a hand into the boat. I sit down facing away from him and towards the gate.

"Where to, my lady?" He asks before even considering to pick up the oar. He is not a wealth man, how would he know what the queen sounds like? More importantly most of London believes I have eleven fingers so I can be Anne Boleyn when I only have ten? But the thought does not calm my nerves. I look to my right and come face to face with a rotting head. It is almost skeletal and withered, it is not George or Mark or William or Francis. All the heads on the spikes are too old to be their pretty heads. I sigh in relief that their heads aren't on display like some horror attraction in a travelling fair.

"As far towards Devonshire as possible please." I reply in a small just commanding voice. Before I left the cell I took several pieces of jewellery with me to pay the boatman, since all my money went towards the swordsman. I pull out a necklace from under my bodice. It is my "B" necklace, my beloved necklace that showed my loyalty to me family. I give it to him before I weep. The last part of my past, my most iconic part of my past is gone for good. I am no longer a Boleyn. He sighs, shamed that I could steal a dying queen's necklace for my own gain, before calling to the guards to open the gate. The Gate starts to scream and shriek as the guards haul it up as faint light pours into the horrid little room. I feel the cold air of the Thames and shiver, but I am relieved at the cold. The boat moves forward and closer and closer into the light until we are on the river and I am at last free. I am free! I can hardly contain myself as we row down the Thames. I place a hand on my mouth to stop me laughter but I can feel my mouth form an un-suppressible smile. The air is filled with the smell of sewage, baking bread, smoke and rotting fish. I greedily inhale every little smell even those that are unpleasant, every smell emphasizes the fact that I am free. But I keep my hood up, I am not safe until I am out of London or until "Anne Boleyn" is dead. The 19th of May 1536 was the day everyone would remember Queen Anne Boleyn would die, but for me the 19th of May 1536 was the day Anne really started to live.


	3. Chapter 3

An: about the paragraphing issue. For some reason the spacing out of my paragraphs isn't working out when I uploading or editing chapters but I'll see if I can fix that. Thank you for your reviews, favs and story alerts: _Pandora of Ithilien, Mint and lemon, FetishFatale, Maribunny, tigeruawish, ValueMyHeart, _oOfallenxtearsOo,_ Heartless-Princess33, Twilighter Rose, Rose Buck, Tanydwr and _munchausen. Thank you for the advice babymene17! sadly this is a short chapter but more to come very soon!

We sail down the murky Thames in our small cheap wooden boat avoiding the corpses of dead cats and the build up of human waste. I wrinkle my nose in disgust at the smell. The collection of smells (which I thought was so wonderful upon my release) had turned rancid in my lungs. The over whelming smell of the wet and rotting cat corpses, The human waste, the fish guts from the markets were all lathered with sweet sickly smells of baking bread and pastries. All these smells threatened to smother me and made me wretch. I had never noticed how poisonous the air in London was before; I had thought it a clean and grand city that welcomed me as its queen and mistress. Now I see that it wanted me smothered to death just like its master. Just thinking about the circumstances I have found myself in makes me choke on a sob as well as vomit. But I will not cry. Why justifications do I have to cry? I am not the one that will feel the smooth cool surface of the blade upon my neck. I'm not the one who will die before a crowd of treacherous dogs. I have been granted an opportunity to live and I have taken it without much consideration for poor sweet Kat. The poor woman, I have only vainly felt the sheer terror which must be consuming her right now. As I slowly creep along the filthy river, she walks along the dusty gravel. As the oars rhythmically hit the water, her heels will clap against the steps of the wooden platform. As I feel the cool breeze from the water caress my neck, she will feel the colder stroke of the sword. I cringe, looking down into the darken depths of the river. It is only fitting that on a grim day such as this, that I noticed for the first time the black putrid water churning with debris and filth. I should remember this stretch of water very well, why only three years ago I sailed to the Tower to wait to be crowned queen at Westminster Abbey and less then twenty days ago I sailed to the Tower to be imprisoned yet had never noticed the vulgarity of the water. I laugh at such an unimportant observation, but it is a harsh mirthless laugh. The Oar-man peers at me for a moment, I can feel his eyes on me and the boat tilt as he leans to see my face but he quickly straightens up again. Perhaps he thinks I have run mad in the tower and that is why I cackle so? perhaps I have. But who could blame me if they knew the horrors i have seen and the terror I have known? I look away from the water, dissatisfied at the memories it threatens to haunt me with. Instead I look out towards the river banks and the throngs of colourful townsfolk as we slowly sail amongst the filth. On the shore, They scurry like rats, perversely excited that an execution was to be had and they would have some entertainment. Why if I was still queen I would punish such treacherous treasonous dogs! I cursed, feeling the bitter sting of further humilation and betrayal. Even when I was Anne "the whore" and faced the scorn of Catherine's court, I was still better treated!

* * *

My anger, my bitterness and my sadness did not subside but I took care to concealed them. My famous temper which had stunned the hot headed King to silence, was suppressed as I twisted and clenched the fabric of my skirt as I caught snippets of conversations about "Nan Bullen, the disgraced queen". As the streets filled out and london awoke, I started to see the barges of the nobles and courtiers sailing besides me towards the tower. I hastily pulled my hood over my head and look down towards my lap, hiding my face in fear of being recognised. After all who couldn't recognize Anne Boleyn? with her dark complextion and bewitching black eyes; a dark lanky crow among the nightingales of the English court. I was the centre of their very world for three years, they who know me for any angle or distance. Yet in their self indulgence and vainity, they sat on their barges in all their finery not giving my little boat a second glance. I was thankful to be spared another betrayal by my fickle courtiers.

' I always said, Right from the start, the king had to watch for that one.' The oar man slurred in a rustic accent. I turned to face him, my cuirousity getting the better of me as it always had.

'pardon?' I asked evenly, uncertain to what he was referring to. He pulled the oar nonchalantly, only giving me half of his attention.

'That Boleyn woman. I always said he had to watch out for her. She started off as a whore and an adultress, he should have known that woman would never change. And ho! look what she's done, slept with half the court!' The oar man said with perverse delight as though the whole affair was wonderfully scandalious. I turned away, biting my lip to stop me from barking back a seething retort.I had to remind myself that I was no longer that Boleyn woman. I was Anne, just Anne. Just Anne on her way to Devonshire to vist her sister. I made a noise to suggested I agreed with his comment but chose not to listen as he proceeded to tell me the whole wretched story of Anne Boleyn's betrayal of the king. Instead I looked fowards as the outskirts of london fell away and gave way to the countryside. I felt the warming feeling of releave spread across my body as the air cleared and the noise of the crowds dimmed. But then I heard the most gut wretching unpleasant noise that shattered any releave or joy ; the fire of the cannon. I shivered, instinctually touch my throat. It was done. For better or for worse, I was free and...so was Henry.


End file.
